Directed by Robert Bresson
Reviewed by Nathan Williams
Au Hasard Balthazar is one of the great works of art. To assign it a star rating is almost vulgar. The recent theatrical tour of a new print (astonishingly, the first ever theatrical release of the film in the U.S.), was an invaluable gift to film-lovers in the fortunate cities it played. While DVD remains a poor substitute, Criterion’s new presentation of the film offers some solace to those who could not attend a screening.
The power of this film is, alas, beyond my abilities as a writer to describe. Robert Bresson is one of a small handful of filmmakers who have created their own language, employing the very basic properties and inherent restrictions of cinema to create a completely original form. This is not to imply he is an experimental filmmaker; his films are very recognizably narrative ones, with people walking around, talking, and living through some sort of story. But his methods and, more importantly, his effects are unlike anything you can experience.
Bresson is famous for employing non-actors, directing them to deliberately flat performances, and somehow achieving astonishing emotional results. In Balthazar he goes one step further by placing his film in the hands of a performer who is entirely incapable of acting: a donkey named Balthazar. This donkey is the perfect protagonist, a complete stoic in whom we can read every emotion. He is caressed by happy young children and we read joy. He witnesses cruelty and we read empathy. He suffers cruelty himself and we read a noble, martyric sentiment.
Yet the film is not some clever, early-Soviet trick. Balthazar was not chosen to make some intellectual observation about a form of expression; such issues are beneath the concern of Bresson. Rather, the donkey allows us to ignore the specifics of character and focus on the nature of living itself. Balthazar is a film about the purpose of suffering, about the inherent loneliness of life, about the great human capacity for cruelty and the equally great, if less often exercised, capacity for compassion. And, like all Bresson’s work, it is infused with an idiosyncratic but devout Christian faith.
If these sound like pretentious generalities, it is the fault of the reviewer and not of Bresson’s. The film is such a unique and beautiful experience that I am unable to effectively impart what it is about. Goethe once wrote, “A genuine work of art, no less a work of nature, will always remain infinite to our reason: it can be contemplated and felt, it affects us, but cannot be fully comprehended, even less than it is possible to express its essence and merits in words.” This is the category in which we must place Balthazar. The world is a better place because this film exists.
The disc: With a film like this, there is certain to be fanatically close inspection of the DVD transfer. As such, some very small flaws have been discovered. A total of 46 frames spread out over the course of the film have noticeable digital artifacts in them. These would be discernable to anyone watching them projected on a decent-sized screen, but few TV-tube viewers should experience anything distracting. Otherwise the image is excellent, one of the most faithful black and white transfers I have seen. The extras are relatively interesting, but it is impossible to enhance the experience of this film with critical analysis or anecdotes. Criterion seemingly realizes this and wisely eschews a commentary, instead including a short interview with their favorite critic, Donald Richie.
There is no film more urgently worth seeing than this one.
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Brian Wilson Presents Smile (DVD) Rhino
Reviewed by Brent Farnham
This is the epitome of a real-life success story. It is much more remarkable than your standard music documentary, which will often just tell a tale of excess and rehabilitation. It is even far more unbelievable than most Hollywood stories of healing and redemption, and it’s all true.
The first disc of this excellent two-disc set contains an in-depth documentary of the story of Smile, the legendary unfinished masterpiece of former Beach Boy Brian Wilson. As is usually the case with Wilson, he bears his soul, while very candidly recounting his own personal history leading up to the bittersweet peak of Smile in 1967. He also offers explanations (and inadvertently gives clues) about the sort of fears and inhibitions that plagued his emotions at the onslaught of his illness, and still affect him now in a reduced, controlled way. The importance of positive reinforcement (for Wilson) is stressed, and the viewer gets a sense of how different the outcome might have been if the unprecedented album had been better received by those closest to him. The documentary also benefits from the insight of relevant music industry figures from the 60s, such as Lou Adler, George Martin, and Wilson’s main Smile collaborator and friend Van Dyke Parks.
On the second disc, there is the full live performance of the Smile album from one of his two famous 2004 London concerts. Watching him perform his entire self-proclaimed ‘rock opera to God’ on stage is especially meaningful, because at the time of writing Smile he had forgone live performances altogether, as had the Beatles. Being able to see the performance of the huge ensemble from various angles really helps one to comprehend the scope of the project and the variety of the instrumentation. You will never have the opportunity to see Mozart or Chopin present their greatest pieces with such resounding clarity. The audience erupts in a thunderous standing ovation for the final song, Good Vibrations, which is a very serious candidate for greatest song of the 20th Century.
The bonus features are reasonably generous, and include multiple uncut interviews (some with solo performances at the piano) and a photo slideshow that surveys his whole life. There is also a fan-made video (in claymation) for Heroes and Villains, and quick interviews with fans and band members after the London performances, which amount to almost 14 minutes of sincerely grateful worship to Wilson’s genius.
This collection may not be ideal for everyone. Naturally, it will appeal much more to fans who were anxiously awaiting the completion of the corresponding album. If you would like to see a documentary that celebrates the gifted careers of his deceased brothers and all of the Beach Boys, Endless Harmony would be a more suitable choice. With the Smile DVD, there is no representation from the remaining members of the group, who are clearly now estranged from him due to past disputes. That said, it certainly offers a unique and honest portrait of an important barrier in the Beach Boys’ career (as well as in musical history) and leaves few mysterious stones unturned.
This is a fascinating subject for a documentary, but more, it is just a thoroughly enjoyable experience. The music is indescribable, and full of valuable life lessons and truly innovative musical concepts, which are still ahead of their time, despite being 37 years late. Watching the master grinning widely through the performance of his fully realized opus is nothing short of heartwarming.
(For information on the studio album, or Wilson’s live tour, see past reviews by Adam D. Miller in the October 2004 issue of Being There.)
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Casino: 10th Anniversary Edition Universal
Starring Robert De Niro, Joe Pesci, Sharon Stone, and James Woods
Directed by Martin Scorsese
Reviewed by Nathan Williams
Casino is perhaps the best example of a cinephile’s guilty pleasure. Three hours stuffed to the gills with 61 (often repeated) pop songs and an astonishingly fluid dance between cinematography and editing. The most egregious overuse of voice-over narration in recent memory. A decadent opera that is curiously missing a plot, sympathetic characters of any sort, or a core purpose. Casino is bloated, muddled, and, yet, somehow uncommonly watchable.
The violence in the film is a major part of its visceral appeal. Casino contains some of the most painful and narratively unjustified acts ever committed to film. Scorsese revels in the horror of these scenes, deliberately taking time away from his story to reenact some of gangland’s most heinous slayings. The violence is not joyous like Tarantino’s or primal and cathartic like Peckinpah’s. Scorsese is clearly disgusted by this violence, and he goes to great pains to avoid making it fun. Nobody—even Pesci’s character, one of cinema’s worst addicts of violence—seems to really enjoy it. But, like pornography in which the participants don’t really seem to be enjoying themselves, it only serves to make the viewer feel dirtier for enjoying it.
If this was, like certain films about violence, part of the point, Scorsese might be able to defend himself. But ostensibly Casino is a film about the downfall of the mob in Las Vegas, principally seen through the eyes of De Niro’s “Ace” Rothstein character. One imagines Scorsese sees it as a eulogy for an older, somewhat more romantic way of stealing from people, an analogy for the old plutocracy giving way to the new, calculating multinationals (as well as one for the downfall of the old Hollywood bosses). In reality it plays as the world’s greatest History Channel reenactment. And this certainly is an accomplishment. But it is hardly successful cinema, however titillating.
The new “10th anniversary edition” is a much-needed one, vastly improving on Universal’s old, muddy transfer. The commentary is a cannibalization of the included mini-documentaries, so be advised of considerable redundancy. Scorsese is, as always, wonderful to listen to: he quotes Kael’s review off the top of his head and drops a gem: “Why can’t we just take music from [Godard’s] Le Mepris?…This is a music without limits.”
Decadence without vulgarity. Strongly recommended (and just as strongly condemned).
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Chappelle's Show: Season Two Paramount
Reviewed by Zayne Reeves
Simply put, Dave Chappelle was the funniest comedian (and best actor) on television last year and this DVD should shame the boneheaded Emmy voters who snubbed him for an acting nod. The Rick James episode might have garnered the most attention but nearly all of them are equally as good with such instant classics as "The Niggar Family," "When Keeping It Real Goes Wrong," "A Day In The Life of Lil' Jon" and an entire episode devoted to sketches that were originally left on the cutting room floor. Then there's "The Three Daves," a gem of confessional comedy where Dave examines what he was like at 18, 24 and 30. At one point, 30 year old Dave learns that he lost a plum role to Nick Cannon and proceeds to shout "I'm broke!" at his son. There's just enough real frustration in how Dave cannot help but vent his financial woes to his grade schooler that gives the laughs a personal edge sorely missing from most of what passes for comedy on American television. Other highlights include "The World Series of Dice," an ESPN takeoff that sneaks in some angry observations about life in the projects while giving us such memorable characters as Ashy Larry (Donnell Rawlings, a regular from both seasons, is an invaluable supporting player) and Phyuck Yiu (Yoshio Mita, ditto) and "White People Dancing" which showcases the comedic talents (and good sportsmanship) of John Mayer.
Season Two also comes with an above average bonus disc of deleted scenes, outtakes and standup by Chappelle. Here's where we get to see just how talented an improv artist Dave Chappelle is because so much of the material on the bonus disc holds up quite well when compared to what actually aired thanks to the man's endlessly creative mind. At one point on the commentary track, Chappelle and cocreator Neal Brennan joke about how Dave freestyled for nearly twenty minutes simply to get thirty seconds of footage on the P. Diddy band sketch. The bonus disc also includes more of Charlie Murphy's True Hollywood Stories which are entertaining on their own although you will definitely gain a greater appreciation for how tightly edited the finished shows are because Charlie, fabulous raconteur that he is, definitely gave them an enormous amount of material to work with. Enough has already been written about the possible fate of Chappelle's Show and I have nothing to add except to encourage the five or six of you out there who haven't heard about this great show already to check this DVD out.
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Starring Gene Tierney, Don Ameche
Directed by Ernst Lubitsch
Reviewed by Nathan Williams
In early 1943, the American public was coming to the realization that this war, embarked upon with tempers flared and expectations high, was not going to be a short one. Americans were shocked by the number of lives lost to liberate strange places they had never heard of, like Guadalcanal and the Kasserine Pass. And while the economy was emerging from the Depression, wartime restrictions like shoe rationing began to be imposed.
Into this environment, 20th Century-Fox released Heaven Can Wait, a film directed by a native Berliner that lovingly depicts the life of a spoiled New York dilettante. Don Ameche plays Henry van Cleve, a son of privilege who never seems to hold a job, steals his cousin’s fiancée, cheats on his wife, spoils his son, and is proud to have never read a book in his life. And yet such are his charms that his wife loves him, Satan loves him, and we, the audience, love him.
The charms of a scoundrel are not unique to Heaven Can Wait. Human nature has a particular soft spot for a troublemaker with a sense of humor and wry grin. Certain American politicians base their entire career on this particular quirk of psychology. But our affection for Ameche is more than mere bad-boyism. By the film’s conclusion we care deeply about him and his cosmic plight (the film is framed by Ameche at the gates of Hell receiving Satan’s judgment). Partially this is because of a story well told; a subtle depiction of any man’s life is certain to drum up sympathy, no matter his crimes. But we really love Ameche because his is the story of a man truly in love.
In the recent Downfall, director Oliver Hirschbiegel could risk humanizing Hitler in numerous ways. He was kind to children and animals. He demonstrated real fear at his imminent death. He displayed patience and affection for his non-military employees. And still we could be safe in condemning and hating this man, as we’ve been taught to do since birth. But one aspect in which Hirschbiegel conspicuously avoided humanizing Hitler was his relationship with Eva von Braun. Because he knew that there is nothing that better inspires true empathy (as opposed to the knee-jerk empathy of watching a child being murdered), than a person in love.
And because Ameche’s love for wife (played by Gene Tierney) is so richly and beautifully depicted, by the film’s conclusion we are willing to forgive him of anything so that he might not be spared the torments of hell specifically but that the two can be reunited elsewhere.
Criterion’s image is often stunning, though some sections are in better shape than others. This is almost certainly the fault of 20th rather than Criterion, as the studio was the latest to take a serious interest in negative and print preservation. The extras include an interesting but inessential documentary on screenwriter Sam Raphaelson and a wonderful, if sometimes overly smug, conversation between husband and wife critics Andrew Sarris and Molly Haskell.
Heaven Can Wait is the sort of film that Hollywood has forgotten how to make: a simple, humorous film with a happy ending that somehow achieves an effortless beauty. Life during wartime needs pictures such as these.
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The Phantom Of Liberty Criterion
Directed by Luis Bunuel
Reviewed by Mark Pittman
The Phantom of Liberty is the second in a trio of surrealist films co-written and directed by Luis Bunuel in the early 70s (the others being The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie and That Obscure Object of Desire, also available on Criterion DVD). Because the first of these three films was a financial success, Bunuel was finally given permission to make exactly the film he wanted and follow his imagination wherever it led him. It certainly led him to some very strange places, but the result was a surreal masterpiece, representing the best of Bunuel’s art.
It’s difficult to explain the “plot” of The Phantom of Liberty. As screenwriter Jean Claude-Carriere reveals in his video introduction to this disc, he and Bunuel decided to make a film that moved from one story to the next at the exact moment that the first story reached its narrative climax. Carriere mentions that the screenplay to The Phantom of Liberty was extremely difficult to write because of this bizarre narrative decision. Sometimes two adjoining episodes in the film share no common characters and are in completely different locations and points in time. But more often, new episodes begin after one character from a previous episode travels to a new location at which point the narrative passes to a previously unknown character.
It’s also difficult to discuss the plot of The Phantom of Liberty since much of the film’s impact relies on the shock of unexpected situations and character actions. If, instead of watching the film, one were to read a summary, The Phantom of Liberty would seem like the most repugnant, sacrilegious, scandalous movie ever made. Nearly every moral taboo one can think of has a corresponding scene in this film.
But, strangely, The Phantom of Liberty is nothing if not charming. Every taboo situation seems to wriggle its way out of its own scandal, somehow, either through humor or by introduction of a surprise twist that makes one doubt one’s own assumptions about what has just happened. Bunuel is playing with our minds and emotions in this film, and he must have thoroughly enjoyed using our assumptions about life against us. Everything from table manners to the laws of nature gets turned on its head, usually with hilarious results.
A lot of The Phantom of Liberty is just intelligent, surreal fun. But, as Jean Claude-Carriere mentions in his video introduction, Bunuel sometimes finds ways to comment on our society by illustrating the irrationality of our actions. The episode of the frightened parents trying to locate their missing 8-year-old daughter—who is standing beside them throughout nearly the entire episode—is Carriere’s own personal favorite Bunuel moment. To him it embodies Bunuel’s talent for creating situations “totally irrational, non-sensical, yet true.”
The new Criterion release of The Phantom of Liberty includes a trailer, an original essay on the film, and the text of an interview with Bunuel made shortly after the film’s release. Bunuel comes across in the interview as unusually open for a director and ends up revealing almost too much about the meaning behind the episodes in The Phantom of Liberty. For this reason, I would recommend that viewers read the interview only after having seen the film…and even then maybe not.
The Phantom of Liberty is hilarious, scandalous, surreal fun and will appeal to anyone with an open mind and a willingness to laugh at everything sacred and “true”. If you find that you respond to this film, I would also recommend Criterion’s other DVD releases The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisies and That Obscure Object of Desire, two other films that show Bunuel at his most creative and entertaining.
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